


kiss it better

by thir13enth



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: This is, indeed, the third time that the Count is seeking Julian's expertise this week.
Relationships: Julian Devorak/Lucio (The Arcana)
Kudos: 49





	kiss it better

For Julian, it’s a peaceful day in the palace until Lucio enters the library — a storm of white, blond, and that _god-awful_ cologne Julian can never seem to get out of his nose.

“Jules!” the Count booms.

Julian looks up, eyes turning from the book in his lap to Lucio. Immediately, he notices the fresh bloom of red over Lucio’s white clothes — clearly a field wound, especially in context of the dirt and grass stains at Lucio’s knees and forearms. Instinctively, he turns his attention to the injury, shutting his book and placing it aside onto his desk, all while never turning his eyes away from the bleeding site.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” he asks.

Lucio gasps. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” he retorts. “And you didn’t even ask if I was okay!”

Just in case, Julian gives the Count a once-over, but outside of his bloodshot eyes, the Count looks as healthy as ever. Curious… sometimes seeing how healthy Lucio _still_ is makes Julian wonder if there really is any use to curing the Plague. The Count and Countess had hired him at the start of the year to investigate, but Julian has not discovered any cures nor has he made any new observations about the course of symptoms.

The sickness hasn’t even seemed to affect Lucio at all — nothing has stopped him from playing swords with the infantrymen, planning his next party, demanding commissions of albino animals, or flirting shamelessly to anyone with eyes and a nose. In fact, no one else at the Palace has seemed to catch the mysterious disease either.

Perhaps the Plague has a long incubation time… or maybe it is festering deep inside, only to be discovered when too late… but whatever it is, Julian supposes it’s better to have a use at the Palace where he can still make the means to live comfortably and drink as much as he desires.

“You look fine,” Julian assures Lucio. “Would you have preferred I said you look beat?”

This seems to shut Lucio up. Lucio only blinks twice in response to Julian’s pointed remark before decidedly ignoring it and jutting one side of his hip out as he lifts his shirt up and over his abdomen, displaying the fresh wound to Julian.

“I’m bleeding, doctor,” he whines, giving Julian a pitiful frown and sad eyes. “I’ve gotten hurt again. Will you stitch me back up?”

Julian assesses the bleed. It’s unremarkable. Julian has absolutely seen worse — and in fact, he’s seen _plenty_ worse injuries on Lucio, not to mention a missing arm. For all the times Julian has tended to Lucio, Julian has never recalled Lucio to be as attention-seeking about bleeds.

However, lately in the last few months, Lucio has come straight to Julian for many a small wound — in direct contrast to the mercenary days when Lucio’s pride would keep him from asking for a favor from science. Curious.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Julien finally remarks. No longer interested, Julian turns in his chair to face his book again, flipping it back open.

Lucio seems betrayed. “What do you mean? I don’t need stitches or something?”

“Not everything needs stitches,” Julian replies, before tactfully adding. “You’re a strong man. I’m sure you’ll heal in no time.”

Ego brushed, Lucio chuckles softly. “Well,” he says, with a tilt of his head. He places his golden hand on Julian’s shoulder. “I _am_ strong, yes, that is absolutely true, but still you gotta treat me, otherwise I might get…. you know, one of those… _infections_ , right, doctor?”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Do you even _know_ what an infection is?”

“I mean, yeah!” Lucio immediately answers. “It’s when your body gets all icky and hot and full of germs and you have a fever and a lot of bad things happen. It’s bad.”

For how little actual knowledge Lucio displayed in saying this, he certainly said it with a lot of confidence.

“You already have an infection,” Julian says coyly, glancing quickly at Lucio’s red eyes.

Lucio’s eyes widen, as if suddenly recalling his own condition. “Oh, _yes_. And wouldn’t that make me _more vulnerable_ to getting even more sick? You really should stich me up or do something! Or clean the wound or something.”

“You’re a grown man. I know you can take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, but I want you to take care of it for me,” Lucio pleads emphatically. “Please, Jules?”

Julian closes his eyes, shaking his head, but Lucio takes his hand and clasps it between his. Julian swallows a quick gasp — he doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ get used to the simultaneous warm touch of his flesh hand against the cold snap of his metal hand.

“ _Please?”_

With a great sigh, Julian looks at Lucio.

It’s very difficult to resist the Count’s sad frown. Lucio was blessed with a natural beauty that could make anyone do anything to bring a smile back to his handsome features — and Julian happens to be one of those anyones.

And after all, is there any saying no to the Count?

“Fine,” Julian says, opening his desk drawer and picking up the small bottle of alcohol and a roll of bandages.

Lucio, having never let go of his hand, pulls Julian up to his feet, tugging at him. “Come, Jules. A more _private_ place, don’t you think?”

Without waiting for his answer, Lucio leads him out of the library, down the stairs, down the corridors in directions that Julian recognizes all too well as the shortest way to the Count’s wing.

Julian knows where this is going. Julian also doesn’t care enough to stop it.

Lucio swings his door open, urging Julian in. The room smells like Lucio — up close and personal, and when Julian breathes in, it reminds him of the last time Lucio embraced him tight, when Julian last caught the smell of the Count’s cologne, something like rosewood, something like vanilla.

Julian has been in the Count’s quarters before, but every time he’s in there, it’s almost an entirely different experience. There’s always a new painting or a new trinket or Melchior and Mercedes are lying in a different spot, but the one thing that never changes is Lucio’s bed — larger than king size, draped in red, built with gold — and that painting of a young Lucio, foot atop a beast’s skull.

Lucio doesn’t let go of Julian’s hand, even as he lies down on his bed, not even bothering to pull off his boots. He lifts his shirt over his torso again, exposing much than needed for Julian to clean the finger-length cut on his abdomen.

Without another word, Julian comes down to his knees — unable to find a stool to sit on — and pops open the bottle of alcohol and pours the contents directly over Lucio’s skin. Julian really could have just moistened some rags with the alcohol dabbing lightly over the wound, but he thinks it’s sometimes fun to make Lucio suffer just a little bit.

And Lucio does suffer quite a bit. He doesn’t say a word, simply grimacing, but Julian knows how much the wound stings just by Lucio’s muscles tense as he dries the excess alcohol, both dried and fresh blood coming off onto the rag.

“You know I won’t just let _anyone_ treat me, you know?” Lucio says, locking eyes with Julian. “Just you.”

Julian brushes off the flirt. “This is the third time this week,” he states, cutting out as good of a rectangle as he can in the bandage, measuring it up against the cut.

Lucio raises an eyebrow. “Oh, ho? Are you keeping count?”

“You’ll see the charge on the invoice next week.”

Lucio rolls his eyes, waving off the dismissal. “Whatever. You know you can charge me anything,” he says, winking. “You’re worth it.”

Julian smooths the bandage over Lucio’s wound. “Better now?”

Lucio smiles boyishly. “Will you kiss it?”

Julian does. He presses his mouth right at the edge of the bandage, feeling the rough fabric of the dressing on one half of his lips and Lucio’s soft warm skin on the other.

It’s a slow and gentle kiss — because Julian does actually care, even if he hates to admit.

Julian pretends not to notice the tent just below Lucio’s waistband. Lucio catches him looking anyway.

“You missed,” Lucio says, a smirk stretching over his lips. “A little lower?”

“You can take care of it yourself.”

Lucio frowns, giving him pleading eyes.

“Yeah, but I want you to take care of it for me,” he says, pouting. “ _Please_ , Jules?”

And is there saying no to the Count?

**Author's Note:**

> one day i'll actually write all the arcana fics i want to write. in the meantime, find me avoiding responsibilities on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/napsbeforesleep)


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